Falling Farther In
by Kit Spooner
Summary: In preparation for the final battle against the Fire Lord's forces, Katara and Prince Zuko separate from the main group in order to build a vast army for the Avatar. From there, it gets complicated. AU. Zutara.
1. Deep As You Go

**Title:** Falling Farther In  
**Author:** Kit Spooner  
**Rating:** PG/K+ for this section, ratings will be rising sharply later on  
**Warnings:** None really. Very mild language and a subtle suggestion of flooziness  
**Disclaimer:** Avatar: the Last Airbender was created by Bryan "Sokka" Konietzko and Mike "Aang" DiMartino and is the property of Nickelodeon. I simply support their efforts with my love and with the purchase of lots of merchandise.  
**Summary:** Time's running out for our heroes. While Aang and the others are off planning an attack on the Fire Lord, Katara and Zuko are in charge of building an army for the Avatar. So much can change in just a few weeks.

**Notes:** This story is being written for a challenge on the katarazuko livejournal community. The entire story is framed around the October Project's second and final album, _Falling Farther In_. This means that the story and chapter titles do not belong to me. As of this writing (9/30/06), this story is canon-compliant, but since I've set the story toward the end of season 3, it's a pretty good bet that this'll be jossed in no time. So consider this an AU.

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**Chapter 1: Deep As You Go**

If you'd told me two months ago that I'd be sharing command of a vast rebel army with Zuko, Prince of the Fire Nation, well, I'm not sure I would have laughed in your face, but I certainly wouldn't have taken you seriously. But, here I am and if I'm going to be honest with you (and myself), I'll have to admit that there's no other place I'd rather be.

See, the situation's a bit complicated at the moment. The war against the Fire Nation is actually being fought on two separate fronts. I'm not entirely sure _where_ our other front is, at the moment, but they're out there somewhere. Aang's theoretically in charge, wherever they are, but we all know that it's Sokka and Iroh who are doing the thinking and the planning. They've been quietly training and preparing for the final fight with the Fire Lord for, oh, nearly two months now. Toph's with them too, since Aang still needs some work on his Earthbending. Also, I'm not entirely sure you could keep the two of them apart even if you tried. And anyway, she'll be able to help him out when he actually faces down Ozai.

Zuko and I, on the other hand, are, for the moment, kind of expendable. It doesn't take Sokka's cleverness or Iroh's vast experience to build and lead an army. So the prince and I (and Jet and Suki and that idiot Hahn and a dozen assorted generals from the Earth Kingdom) have been at it for weeks, recruiting soldiers for the Avatar's Army. And when I say 'soldiers,' I mean 'able-bodied people who can either 'bend their way out of a wet paper sack or, at the very least, hold a sword, or fire a bow, or brandish a pitchfork. We're not picky, these days. We know that no matter how big a force we muster, it probably won't be enough to defeat the legions that the Fire Nation has spent the last century building.

It can be pretty daunting, but morale isn't nearly as bad as it could be. Zuko's the main reason for this.

Who'd have guessed that such a whiny, spoiled asshole would turn out to be such a charismatic leader?

Sure, it was rough at the start. Turns out that public-speaking scares the crap out of him, makes him so nervous that he _still_ vomits before going up to the podium. But he's _brilliant_. I mean, really, really good. Zuko has all the makings of a hero and somehow, he turns that to our advantage every time he addresses a new crowd of skeptical villagers.

After the first couple rounds of campaign-style recruiting that we did, Jet and I conferred and decided that dramatic was the way to go. Yeah, Jet – self-serving jerk that he is – is pretty much the master of dramatic presentation. (Even after a few rounds of brainwashing in Ba Sing Se and a few weeks of recovering after we rescued him, well, he's still a bit of an ass.) So we started arranging Zuko's speeches to coincide with the sunset, both for the dramatic lighting that burnishes his shaggy hair to molten brass and lights his scar with renewed flame, and for the simple timing of our message.

"The era of Fire Nation oppression is over," Zuko pronounces over the dull murmur of the fascinated crowd. "Any imbalance in the elements leads to an imbalance in power. The rich get richer, the poor suffer beyond imagination. And not just here, on the edges of the Earth Kingdom. In the Water Tribes, generations of young warriors have vanished, smashed bravely against the iron bulwarks of the Fire Navy. In the Earth Kingdom, the unlucky ones live and die in the iron mines and forges, no matter which master they serve, Fire or Earth. And even in the Fire Nation, a once-proud people are reduced to breeding stock, forced to replenish a population forced to bear the brunt of Fire Nation recruitment efforts."

I love listening to him speak. Sure, he may be a jerk who lives only for vengeance against those who cast him out years ago, but when he gives these speeches, oh, it's so easy to lose yourself in the cadence of his message.

"I do not serve the Earth Kingdom!" he continues, spreading his arms wide against the setting sun. "No king or general commands my loyalty here. I do not bow to the Water Tribes or their chieftains. Even my homeland, the beleaguered Fire Nation, no longer holds my highest allegiance." His dramatic pause highlights the sudden and complete silence across the sea of spellbound peasants.

"No, I serve a higher power, a power that rises above elemental divisions. I serve the Avatar, the spiritual link among all of our peoples. He's only a child, and still he risks his life fighting the very evils we have hidden from for so many years. And I say, I'm tired of hiding, tired of making excuses. It's time for the final attack. It's time to let the Avatar do his job! I've sworn to aid him to my dying breath. Who here has the courage and hope to stand with us!"

The echoes of his final bellow never have time to face before the crowd shouts in unison in response. I give a nod to Suki and Jet and they disappear into the periphery of the crowd to organize the officers who'll now be filtering through the throng, sorting new recruits into units and beginning the task of our evening bivouac. I take charge of Zuko.

As per usual, the prince manages to shakily step down from his makeshift podium (a supply wagon draped with our four-color war-banner) and I take his arm to lead him back to the tent that he and Jet share. Or at least, the tent they _would_ share if Jet wasn't currently working his way steadily through the Kiyoshi warriors.

"Another good speech," I tell Zuko as we walk.

He grunts and looks exhausted, leaning his weight against me for the support his pride won't let him ask for.

I secretly enjoy this part of our campaign. Despite being his co-commander, we spend very little time alone. But in the evenings after speeches we get a few hours to rest, and I've weaseled my way into his routine. It's a rare sort of treat to spend time with him without either bickering fiercely or smiling cheesily for the soldiers.

I guide him into the tent and sit him down onto his cot. He flops down onto his back and stares up at the ridgepole of the tent while I make him some tea and reheat a little dinner. Admittedly, it's a little frustrating that I spend all of my spare time thinking about him, worrying about his health, and generally mooning over him in as subtle a way as I can manage, and he barely even looks at me, even when we're alone together. You'd think it'd be enough for me that I've earned his trust and friendship, that he feels free to act like himself around me.

Man, I'm pathetic these days.

As I'm pouring the hot water into a little clay teapot, the steam billows around my face, helping to hide my blush. It's been a couple since I realized that I wanted much, much more than Zuko's trust and friendship. And a couple weeks since I started reminding myself that there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. Hell, I couldn't even talk to Zuko about my feelings because it would risk the tenuous partnership we've built and we _need_ to work together on this whole army thing.

It's hard, though, having this embarrassingly steady affection for him. It would have been easier if I still viewed him as the useless little rich boy he once was. But he truly is admirable, now, a genuine hero beyond any vigilante with a mask. The men in the army worship him and the women, well, let's just say that I have a quiet agreement with Suki and some of her girls in regards to maintaining a rotating guard around his tent at night. Zuko needs his sleep more than he needs some half-rate floozy of an earthbender sneaking into his bed.

I briefly allow myself to wonder what things will be like in a few short weeks, once the comet has departed and the war is over. Zuko will make a great king, if he survives.

And I'll . . .

"The tea needs to steep a little longer," I say quietly, refusing to finish that dangerous thought. So I load up a tray with two chipped teacups and the pot of hot tea, toting it over to Zuko's bedside. I hook my ankle around the little folding table that we use to plan traveling routes and play Pai Sho, and pull it to the side of his cot. Setting down the tea tray, I glance over at him to find his eyes closed and his breathing even.

He may be a fantastic figurehead for our army, but it's exhausting for him. I wish there was something I could do to help share the burden of that weight on his shoulders, but I'm pretty sure he's stuck with it. I'm just a gangly peasant from the south, unknown and unremarkable. I certainly wouldn't be able to draw in new soldiers the way Zuko does.

Leaving Zuko to rest, I put together some rice and leftover stew for him, set the bowl next to his tea and then settle in to wait until he wakes.

From where I sit on a stool at his bedside, his scar is hidden, and he looks younger than he really is, _far_ younger than he seems when he's giving speeches atop a supply wagon. There are dark circles under his eyes, though, and he's lost some weight. The urge to brush back his messy hair and touch his face is nearly overwhelming.

It takes me a moment to realize that I've actually reached a hand out toward him. My fingers hover over his lips briefly before I snatch them back and fold my hands tightly into my lap.

Bad Katara, I remind myself. No molesting Prince Figurehead.

So instead I sip his tea and watch him sleep. It's a relaxing sort of pastime, though not quite as fun as fighting with him or sparring.

The tea works its warm, soothing magic on my tense spine and I find myself relaxing, leaning more and more against the side of his cot. It looks as though he'll be sleeping a while; he'll never even know if I just lay my head down for a _brief_ while and take guilty advantage of his warmth.

It's not even a choice, and between one frustrated, aching thought and the next, I've slid onto the edge of his cot and laid my head down near his. The heat from his curled spine radiates and lulls me to sleep.

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(Chapter first posted: 9/30/06) 


	2. Something More Than This

**Title:** Falling Farther In

**Author:** Kit Spooner

**Rating:** PG-13/T or maybe R/M for this section, ratings will be vary per chapter

**Warnings:** Zuko thinks naughty thoughts. Genitalia are mentioned. No sex. One four-letter word.

**Disclaimer:** Avatar: the Last Airbender was created by Bryan "Sokka" Konietzko and Mike "Aang" DiMartino and is the property of Nickelodeon. I simply support their efforts with my love and with the purchase of lots of merchandise.

**Summary:** Time's running out for our heroes. While Aang and the others are off planning an attack on the Fire Lord, Katara and Zuko are in charge of building an army for the Avatar. So much can change in just a few weeks.

**Notes:** Can we say AWKWARD?

**Chapter 2: Something More Than This**

My dreams, on those nights that I truly slept, were strange that summer. Dreams of fire had always been standard for me, but those summer visions of water were not.

Katara, my friend, companion and partner in the whole Avatar's Army scheme stood by me all those weeks. She was always at my side, day in and day out, keeping me steady (and fed). She determined our route, dealt with the gang of Earth Kingdom quartermasters who constantly bickered over supply trains, and organized the corps of officers. She made sure that all I needed to do was climb up on top of my wagon and charm the peasants.

Her attention was . . . gratifying, even if I knew that she was simply caring for a valued teammate.

It grew awkward, however, when my smoke-and-fire dreams turned to a more liquid variety: the wet coil of her freshly washed hair, the dampness immediately after moistening her lips, the soothing cool of her hands against my exhausted body.

So it was no great surprise to me when a particular dream about leading a legion of tin soldiers into battle suddenly shifted and my mind was filled with the scent of Katara's hair.

No, I won't tell you how I became so familiar with _that_ particular fragrance.

So I'm inhaling that scent, that fascinating mix of clean herbs overlaid with a layer of road dust, and it's wonderful, because now I realize that it's one of _those_ dreams because she's warm and soft, and surprisingly small in my arms.

_Yes_, I think. If I can't have the real thing, then these dreams really are the best kind of substitute.

My arms tighten their grip around her and she sighs in her sleep, head tilting so that her bare neck is _right there_ in front of my face. I echo her sigh and begin kissing that bare neck, the fine curls escaping her braid tickling my nose.

Katara stirs and I can feel the muscles in her back shifting against my chest; it's one of the benefits of being curled around her like some sort of big cat. And soon her restless shifting becomes a sensual stretch, her shoulders and backside pressing back against me and, oh man, it's one of _those_ dreams. Really.

I continue to kiss her neck, occasionally detouring up to explore the curving edge of her ear. It's something that I suspect I'll never tire of dreaming about. When I gently bite at her earlobe, she makes a quiet moaning noise that makes me instantly hard, and she's still squirming around in that delicious way . . .

Knowing that this tryst is purely imaginary makes me bold, as you might imagine. That arm that's curled over her hip? Well, it puts my hand within range of a number of really intriguing areas, areas which I immediately begin to explore. And judging from the continuing range of noises that Katara's making, she seems to approve of my actions.

At this point in the encounter, I come to the conclusion that I'd really rather have her facing me. I mean, yes, this position _is_ extremely comfortable and it provides me with a _very_ convenient angle for breast-exploration, but I'd kind of like to see her face. Dream sex is great and all, but watching Katara's facial expressions is really the best part, the part that reminds me that yes, it's _her_, even if it's only imaginary.

So I sling a leg over hers and lean in again, murmuring in her ear. "Katara?"

The reaction is instantaneous and pretty startling.

"Zuko!" Her voice is _not_ the sultry whisper I'd been expecting and when she turns over to stare at me, it's not lust that's coloring her flushed cheeks.

It takes me a moment to realize what that mortified expression on her face means, and that's when I scramble back away from her and slam head-first into the wall next to my cot.

"Aah!" she says, now looking confused and worried. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, shit," I say, more worried about the explanation that I _know_ I'm going to have to provide her. I know now that I'm _definitely_ not dreaming and that I was _touching_ her while she was asleep and oh, Agni, am I some kind of perverted deviant? She'll leave and never come back and then I'll be stuck with this gigantic army with no one to hold my hair back when I puke before speeches.

Worst of all, I won't have _her_ here with me.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I babble, trying to feign sanity while avoiding eye contact.

"You sure?" Her voice is now one hundred percent concerned and I feel like a heel for worrying her, never mind groping her.

"Yeah," I assure her. "I'm fine. Are . . . you okay?"

"Um," she says, her gaze dropping to the open neckline of her dress, the neckline that my roving hands had pulled open for easier access to her . . .

Okay, I need to stop thinking about her breasts. Better yet, stop staring at them.

"I was asleep!" I blurt.

She stares at me, her expression completely indecipherable.

"I didn't know it was you!" I add.

Now she arches an eyebrow and looks a little more severe.

"I'd never . . ." I pause, consider the options, and blunder onward. "I'd never have done anything to you, Katara!"

Katara's mouth opens, forms an 'o' shape, then closes with an audible snap.

"I swear," I add, for emphasis.

And she's suddenly scowling at me and sliding off the cot and closing the front of her dress.

"You know how much I respect you!" I say desperately. "You heard me promise your brother that I'd never let anyone touch you and I meant it, I was just asleep and dreaming and . . ." I had to pause when a new thought occurred to me. "Were you sleeping in my bed?"

For a moment, my only indication that she's heard me is the sudden tenseness in her shoulders as she faces away from me. Then she whirls and begins to yell, her eyes bright and liquid.

"I was most certainly _not_ sleeping in your bed!" she declares. "I was sitting on that _footstool_ waiting for you to wake back up!" She points at the little stool next to my cot, and then at the folding table bearing a tea service and covered bowl. "I made you _dinner_, you jackass!"

I stare at her for a long moment, wondering suddenly whether this whole mess is some sort of weird blessing in disguise. It's probably the perfect opportunity to really _explain_ to her how and what I feel. Maybe I should just tell her that I've got this awful crush on her and that I dream about her almost every night and that she's pretty much the only reason I can manage to give those damned speeches all the time. Maybe I should tell her that lately I've been forgetting about the old reasons for the war (honor and truth and the hopes of the world) in favor of newer, softer reasons (making her happy, making her _proud_ of me).

But I can be a bit slow at times, and I don't tell her any of this.

"Oh, dinner," I say stupidly. "Thanks."

Katara makes a wordless sound of rage and hurls a teacup at my head. I manage to duck it, of course, but it bounces off the tent canvas behind me and spills cold tea all over me and my bedding. Then the cup rolls slowly off the cot and shatters against a rock embedded in the floor.

By the time I've stopped staring like an idiot at the broken teacup, she's gone and the tent flap is swinging closed behind her. Damn.

I know I've made at least a couple mistakes this evening, but I'll be damned if I wouldn't make them all over again in a heartbeat.


End file.
